


Coma Baby

by Len0306a



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Len0306a/pseuds/Len0306a
Summary: I always thought Superman could never fall, but I forgot he could. And he did.





	Coma Baby

**Author's Note:**

> The title is connected to Nicole Dollganger's song "Coma Baby" Which relates to the story.

My house, the only way you could describe it, was quaint. It was cozy and small, messy, covered in paperwork. Folders and binders littered the tables, along with pencils and sharpies. It was dirty, I’ll admit, but there was a beauty to the autumn colors of the downstairs. 

 

The upstairs bedrooms were the opposite, cold blues and purples decorating me and my sister’s rooms. Mine was slightly warmer, dark browns and pale blues, while Alexis’, my sisters, were purple and grey. 

 

I usually stayed in my room, blankets skewed around the floors, while my sister stayed downstair. One afternoon, however, I remained downstairs, waiting for a moment. I wasn’t really occupied, blanding switching channels and not paying attention to anything in particular. 

 

I went to get a glass of ice-tea, when my phone rang. It was my mother, who was meant to be working. I answered as I usually did, with a bland, “Hey.” Mother started speaking, rapid fire, about how stupid our father was, and how he was in the hospital. I of coursed ask why he was there, but the nurses seemed to insist that we come down and see him. 

 

I went to my sister’s room, telling her to get ready as I did so myself. I was dressed in dark colors, all black, with a long peacoat that made me look fairly grim. Alexis, however, dressed in a bright green and blue hoodie, and blue ripped jeans.

 

Mother picked us up, her curly hair tied in a bun with a wig of sorts attached to the updo. She was in scrubs, since she had just come from her hospice job, and we set off. The van rumbled and growled on our way, the old bits and parts rusted with rain and use. 

 

We remained silent on our ride there, which was unusual for such an eccentric family, the car ride seemingly lasting forever. We finally arrived at the ER, where they told us our father was moved to the ICU. They said they were trying to stabilize him before sending him to a bigger, grander hospital. 

 

We walked and rode the stairs, talked to a nurse at the front desk, and were told we had to wait an hour before seeing him. We waited, going out to grab fast food to speed up time, before Mother demanded that we see him. 

 

A kind hearted nurse came out to speak with us, who never spoke of her name, before talking. In all honesty, I blanked out while she was explaining why it wasn’t a good idea for his daughters to see him like that. 

 

She finally told us he had a collapsed lung, which had filled with blood.  _ Pneumonia _ , the nurse said.  _ He gave up _ , she said. They had to resuscitate him three times before we came. We heard of them saying  _ he wasn’t going to make it _ , which spurred another bout of tears from my mother. 

 

We gave no heed to the nurse’s warnings, instead choosing to see him. We walked down long hallways with dying patient before we finally came to my father’s room. There were multiple nurses and a doctor, who covered him in a scratchy paper sheet. 

 

My father laid there, in a vegetative state, a breathing stuffed in his mouth. Another tube ran out of his chest, pumping out blood and pushing in oxygen. My eyes followed the tube, the long stand leading to two containers half full of his blood. It was foamy, a dark, crusty brown coloring the otherwise white foam. 

 

Mother instantly started crying and talking to him, while Alexis just stared at her feet, avoiding the man’s body. I stared at him, feeling bitter. He gave up on this family before we even became one, and now he’s  _ giving up his life at forty-nine? It’s not fair _ . 

 

A nurse, Tina, came in the room, bringing us out to answer questions about our dying father. Our aunts came soon after, rushing to see him  _ one last time _ . We all went back in the room, Tina hovering around the area, all crying and talking. We all got alone time with him, to talk to him for...closure. It didn’t feel like closure, though. It felt like  _ rage _ and  _ bitter _ and d _ on’t leave me _ . Maybe that’s closure. 

 

We all laughed and cried as we told stories, and finally the doctor came. Everyone kept trying to hug me until he entered, unwelcome touches stopping when news came through. The doctor never gave us a name, but we recognized him from earlier. It was unbelievable when he came in, because we thought he was going to explain what’s happening father. Instead we got  _ he’s about to go into cardiac arrest  _ and saw a swarm of nurses enter the room. They were swarming around my father like a swarm of bees, 

 

They didn’t close the door at first, and I got glimpses of Tina, kneeling next to my father’s chest, doing CPR. Her body jumped up and down on the bed, hair flying, as the doctor closed the door. 

 

Apparently, we needed his mother’s permission to stop giving him CPR. We called her as we screamed and grieved, all of us fighting for what’s best for my dad. We finally convinced her to give up, which led to more grieving. She didn’t want to give up her son, when she had lost her husband a week prior, and sister a day before. 

 

Everything comes in threes, i guess. 

 

We stood there, outside our father’s room, as they disconnected the heart and oxygen monitors. His oxygen levels were constantly dropping, at a whopping thirty-seven.

 

We were forced to leave, the room too packed with friends and family alike. Everyone talked to him and each other, the room filled with constant chatter. I’d rather sit alone and grieve instead of constant condoleances that were meant for themselves. 

 

That night, we all cried ourselves to sleep, in our respective room. 

  
  
  


I stopped trying to sleep, my dreams filled with decaying lungs, held together with stitches, with no skin. Blood coated the area, orchid’s lining my body, my dad’s body. I felt dizzy, my breathing not working, my lung collapsing. It was extremely painful, and I woke up unable to breathe and in shock. My body wasn’t responding for what felt like forever. 

 

I went to my sister’s room, where she woke me up every time I dozed off.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave A comment when you're done.


End file.
